


Just a Pinch of Evil

by yeolinski



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: A lot of penises, Bad Cooking, Changbin is bullied, Cooking Lessons, Evil, Felix and Seungmin find each other inside all of that, M/M, Meet-Cute, Minho is a Little Shit, Misunderstandings, Non-Graphic Smut, Sexual Tension, Some Humor, Well maybe less-graphic sex scene is more suitable but there's no tag like that, chan is whipped, eccentric chef-ism, hidden astrophysicist!bangchan agenda, minor jealous/possessive bang chan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-12 13:15:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28885962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeolinski/pseuds/yeolinski
Summary: It's technically just cooking classes, but Minho keeps sabotaging his dishes. On purpose.
Relationships: Bang Chan/Lee Minho | Lee Know, Kim Seungmin/Lee Felix
Comments: 62
Kudos: 323
Collections: october☆sparkle: minchan ficfest





	Just a Pinch of Evil

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the minchan ficfest prompt number #14! 
> 
> (see the end notes for the full prompt!) 
> 
> **Disclaimer:** some cooking classes involve some variations of meats and/or cheese products; please don't go on reading if you find that triggering!
> 
> Enjoy!

“What are you making?” 

He can’t help himself. The guy clearly wasn’t making squash spaghetti. 

Not that Chan was making Squash spaghetti, either. Well, he did at first. It turned out really nice and neat. Felix took a few pictures of it, too, for his instagram. 

They finished first (like miles ahead of the others, they even got some glares from a couple right across them who seemed to think this was a competition) and naturally, his best friend wandered off to mingle. So Chan did what he does best when left to his own devices; got creative. 

Although he kept himself busy, it was hard not to notice the guy in the station next to theirs. He's been working in complete silence, all alone, eyebrows furrowed. Sometimes Chan would glance his way to see him sticking his tongue out in concentration, or biting his lip. 

By the time he ran out of products to bring out of the pantry, he could no longer deny that he’s staring. It’s hard to look away from somebody doing something with such — _sincerity_. 

This spaghetti was clearly important to him. 

It was more than just putting a vegetable into an oven and being at awe that the fibers kinda look like pasta strings — it was clearly about the art of it. About _the soul_.

Chan works in a science field; some of his work is just numbers and some of it is theoretic, but he likes diligence. He likes people who are excited about what they do. 

There wasn’t any way he could deviate _accidently_ from his path to the pantry, but he had to take a look, even if he looked like a nosy asshole while he did it, and...

Not very appetizing. 

It looks like an elongated brown blob. 

“Whatever everybody’s making.” His answer is simple. Short. Disinterested. 

Maybe he just needed some help. Chan can help. Chan is good at helping people, and is good at making squash spaghetti. He should step in and offer his services. Save the poor bastard from the teachers’ critique. 

“We’re um, making squash spaghetti. With squash.” Chan can’t help himself.

“Yeah, I know. I used the squash.” 

“Why is it brown?” 

“I added cacao powder. I wanted it to look more… well… darker in color.” He says dismissively; “also wanted it to stick together better. Without using flour.” 

Chan rubs his head; “You don’t actually need to color it.” 

“Are you in a position to advise other people?” He finally stops to give him a short, but somewhat condescending look. “I mean, the bananas were definitely an overkill.”

Huh. 

Chan looks back at his own dish and grins. 

He’s kinda sharp. 

“I was feeling yellow, today.” He admits; “So I added more yellow.”

Yellow was already the theme (squash and cheese), so Chan decided to see what other yellow things were they keeping in the pantry of this place. Lemon, turmeric, corn, bell peppers and — bananas. Seemed suitable enough.

“Color coding your dish ingredients. I’ll be sure to try that at home.” The guy seems rather unimpressed, and Chan has the sudden _itching_ urge to have the exact opposite effect on him. 

“I finished first,” He has to explain himself first; “And got bored. So I decided to decorate the dish.”

Probably not his best attempt at being impressive. He rubs his head in embarrassment, but the guy seems to accept it, nodding once, before resuming his kneading. He’s careful; puckering his lips a little as he goes. 

When Chan lingers, staring, he finally answers; “I’m bored, too. In a way.” 

“You don’t look very bored, you look like you’re — planning to invade russia.”

He laughs at that — his laughter is unusually short, abrupt and unexpected and brittle, like the first frost of the year. 

“I was hearing the ‘mission impossible’ theme in my head while staring at you.”

He nods his head, as if Chan earned his right to know and finally with a sigh says; “I am indeed here on a mission.” 

Chan takes a step closer, so he could lean on the guy’s station. 

“See that guy over there?” He gestures with his chin toward the general teaching station, that’s located right in the middle. “The short one.”

“Uh,” Chan rubs his head, he didn’t really pay much attention. 

“The guy that thinks we’re on masterchef or something equally cringey they show on TV.” 

The Chef hosting the cooking course joked about taking away their aprons if their dish comes out last. It earned a few chuckles from the crowd. Chan, too, thought it’s funny. 

“The teacher?” Chan asks, a bit bewildered that the guy didn’t call him that, but he grunts dismissively at that. 

“He’s a chef. And also my childhood friend. Seo Changbin.” 

“Oh.” 

“I came here to ruin his life.” 

“Why?” 

The guy narrows his eyes at him, as if he’s trying to determine whether or not Chan is worthy of this information. 

“Well, first of all, because he’s a piece of shit.” From his tone, it sounds like this is obvious and Chan is dumb for asking. “But secondly because we had a bet and he lost. Now he doesn’t want to keep his part of the bargain.” 

“I see… so it’s a money related thing?” 

The guy waves his hand at Chan; “I don’t care about puny matters like that. I asked for something much more _sophisticated_.” 

“What exactly did you ask for…?” 

“Nothing too grand.” He stops shaping his blob, and leans his elbow on the oven to his right, finally facing Chan. “I don’t even know what’s the big deal. It’s just his firstborn child.” 

Chan bursts into laughter, but it dies down just as quickly as it goes, when the guy in front of him furrows his eyebrows at him. He’s serious. 

“That was his reaction, too.” He huffs. “Except he was kind of drunk.” 

“Why would you need his firstborn? I mean — babies cry a lot when they’re born. They’re not all that interesting.” Chan has two younger siblings, and although he loves both of them dearly, as kids they’d get into fights over everything, including the remote control. 

“I didn’t think that far ahead. But a bet is a bet. And a man needs to honor what he shook hands upon. This is about principals.” 

Chan takes a moment to really think about it, and realizes he can understand that. 

It’s not about being petty — it’s about being right.

The guy is already back at his molding, this time using softer, longer strokes along the length of it, as if smoothing it out. 

His hands are smaller than expected, but his fingers nimble, careful. 

Chan bites his lip. 

“So — what’s the plan exactly? You’re just ruining the dishes? On purpose? ” 

“I’m just here to mess with him.” He admits; “He’s not allowed to scold me or expel me. He is only allowed to praise and like whatever I do, even if it’s absolutely awful or scandalous.” 

“So you basically made a mudpie, and the teacher has to say it’s good?” 

The guy looks back at his creation, and then at Chan, and a small sinister smile raises on his lips. 

The way his face changes, how the light appears in his eyes all of the sudden, runs a shiver up Chan’s face. 

“Mudpie?” He doesn’t raise his tone, but it sounds much more malicious than anything he said until now. “Well, I guess you don’t see it from your angle. Hold on.” 

He picks up the blob, and sets it up straight. 

And now it no longer looks like a blob. The two small bulges right at the end of it make sense all of the sudden. It’s a big, fat, brown _dick_. 

Chan opens his mouth. But no words come out. 

How could he make words when he’s faced with such a magnificent thing?

He was right — this was about _art_. 

The guy sighs, putting his hands on his hips; “It’s a beauty, isn’t it?” 

“It is. It truly is.” 

They stare at it for a moment, now finally getting more curious looks from around the room. 

Chan isn’t even a part of this petty revenge scheme, but he can’t wait until people will come closer to have a look. The guy even made a bulbous structure at the very top, to resemble the head. Very detailed. 

“I’m Chan, by the way.” Chan finally offers his hand; “Bang Chan.” 

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but it’s a bit weird that you introduce yourself right after I showed you my penis.” He pauses, and it makes Chan’s shoulders shake a bit with pending laughter— but then he adds; “Lee Minho.” 

They shake hands. 

Minho holds his gaze for longer than he did their entire conversation, and Chan’s strong grip falters, and becomes a bit softer. His thumb slides down; Minho’s hand is warm in his; small.

“Hyung…! Not again!” Felix’s voice disrupts Chan’s thoughts, and Minho slips away, hurriedly setting his sculpture back into the tray he was working on. 

“You’re obsessed with bananas.” 

Minho snorts and Chan glances at him, laughing; “I’m mildly intrigued by bananas, I wouldn’t go as far as to say _obsessed_ ,” He comes closer to Felix, as Felix tries to collect all the banana slices Chan cut into flower shapes into his mouth.

“We’re not getting grades, but the chef will taste the dish.” Felix explains. “Don’t fail me now, Hyung. I already said our dish will taste the best. It also looks professional. I mean, without the bananas.” 

“About that… Umm… I didn’t know they were going to do a taste-test—” 

Chan looks at Minho, but he’s already in the midst of what appears to be a hostile discussion with his partner, and then the chef calls for them to come huddle up as he starts making rounds on the finished dishes. 

Seo Changbin, doesn’t seem like a piece of shit. He actually looks like somebody Chan could get along with. 

When the time comes to finally present his plate, Chan tries to say that it’s not finished yet, but Felix totally belittles Chan’s words, praising their dish until the guy actually picks up a spoonful. 

He stops chewing midway, but then resumes. 

“Interesting choice of ingredients.” He says, chewing.

Felix is absolutely overjoyed by this and claps his hands together excitedly. 

“I think you should start by adding less turmeric — that can easily overpower any dish, especially something as mild as this. But the lemon does add a certain zest to it.” 

Felix’s eyebrows furrow, and he turns sharply to Chan, Chan looks away, looking anywhere but at Felix.

His eyes land on Minho. 

He seems amused, leaning on the wall to Chan’s left.

That’s all Changbin has to say about their dish, and it’s obvious he was trying to be nice, because he moves on to Minho’s table right afterwards. 

Felix hits Chan’s arm, but slips past him to go look at the last dish. 

Minho sets it upright, and gets a few gasps from the crowd. 

Changbin looks like he’s about to explode for a second, before running his teeth on his lower lip angrily. 

Minho’s station partner seems to get a kick out of this, too, because he grins, too.

“Very… phallic.” Changbin inhales when he says it, as if he has nothing else to add. “And big. I’m sure you’re not overcompensati—” Minho hisses lighty, and Changbin stops, but looks even more annoyed; “But art is art, and this is quite clearly — _art_. Very art.” Changbin corrects himself, having nothing else to say about it. 

Chan bursting into laughter, and the crowd turns his way, so he holds his hand up to his face, trying to make it look like he sneezed. 

“Good effort on the — color.” Changbin adds. 

“And…?” Minho urges. 

“Good job. Very well done.” Changbin seethes it out through closed teeth, clearly in pain. 

He would’ve turned around, given the chance, but Minho holds up a fork; “You have to taste it. It’s delicious.” 

“I’m quite full from everybody’s dishes and—”

“You tasted everybody but not mine and Seungmin’s? That’s a bit insulting, I would say. What do you think, Seungmin?” 

“Yeah, you should definitely taste it.” Seungmin encourages; “It has quite the texture to it. Out of this world, hyung.” 

Changbin looks like he doesn’t particularly like Seungmin either, but he leans down, and takes a bite out of Minho’s fork. 

It crunches.

Chan starts laughing every time he remembers the look of horror on Changbin’s face, even when he’s at work, on Monday night.

.

Next week, Minho makes another penis, this time out of dough and meat. This time, he doesn’t hide it; it stands proudly upright, and gets a bunch of nasty glares from around the room. 

The rest of them are making empanadas, so it takes awhile for them to cook. 

After orbiting around Minho’s station for 15 minutes, Chan finally gets the courage to start a conversation; “Minho, do you accept constructive criticism?” 

“How dare you find flaws in my masterpiece?” He doesn’t sound very insulted, and there’s a light smile playing on his lips as he shapes the balls to look more wrinkly. Clearly he worked with dough before. 

“—Is it erect or simply circumcised? If it’s erect, you should add some veins.” 

“I saw you angsting over this for at least 20 minutes, and this is the best suggestion you could come up with? Weak.” 

“Let me try again, then.” Chan bites his lip; “I didn’t want to be harsh; but your balls could use some hairs on them.” 

Minho finally looks up to his face, still looking amused. “Keep talking.” 

“It should be squiggly and black; I saw some dark noodles in the pantry.” 

“I accept your suggestion and will take it upon consideration for next week.”

“You could also melt some white chocolate.” Chan adds; “It’ll look like spunk.” 

Minho’s eyes sparkle. “Okay, I like this one, go get the chocolate from the pantry. I’ll present it by pouring the chocolate off the slit.” 

“Just like they do in the best restaurants.” Chan marvels. “Am I getting any credit?” 

“You’re allowed to claim credit when I’m doing it.” Minho decides. “Just say something along the lines of ‘I made it cum’. Changbin is going to love that.” 

Chan burns his empanadas to crisp. They’re literally unbreakable. Changbin tries to cut one, but it’d probably take a chainsaw. 

Minho does indeed present his own dish with the pouring of chocolate. It causes quite a stir. Some people say it’s inappropriate. Chan claps. Looks very professionally done, as if Minho did this for living. 

.

“Don’t be mad, but I’m going to work with Seungmin.” Felix announces, right when they’re allowed to get back to their station, after Changbin’s tutorial. 

Seungmin raises his hand awkwardly. “And I’m Seungmin.” He introduces himself, in a by-the-way sort of attitude.

“Oh, come on. You also wandered off and didn’t watch the empanadas.” 

“Because _you_ said you’re watching them.” 

Felix was sitting with his hands crossed in the car the entire ride home last week, and being quiet, so Chan filled the silence with telling him all about Minho and his holy crusade to ruin Changbin. He 

seemed okay when they arrived back home and decided to watch something on netflix, so Chan thought he wasn’t _that_ angry. 

Apparently, he was. 

“Don’t do that face, you’re screwing up on purpose.”

“I could just teach you at home literally—” 

“Or you could go work with Minho, over there.” Felix points; “And screw up to your heart’s content.” 

“I thought this is going to be a bonding experience for us.” 

Felix mouths _‘go’_ , but Chan squints one eye at him. He wants to be alone with Seungmin, clearly, but he didn’t have the guts to say it in the car, so he’s doing it now. 

Felix huffs at Chan’s inability to cooperate, then takes a long inhale, and closes his eyes with it. He raises his fist to the ceiling, and then lowers it and bumps it into Chan’s chest; “Bonding complete.” He says with an air of finality to it, as if this is an rpg mission completed and Chan can’t help but laugh.

“Fine,” He takes his phone off the stand, trying to seem begrudging at best. 

“We’re still watching His Dark Materials later, though. Don’t be mad!” Felix calls after him. 

Chan agrees, but doesn’t turn around to him. 

He’s not mad. 

Now that they both finished college and lived in their own places, it was hard to find time to do something that isn’t just drinking beer somewhere. When Felix suggested it first, Chan didn’t think much of it, because — well, they both _knew_ how to cook. He was especially good at it. Sure, he liked to experiment here and there, but generally speaking, he can pass off as a chef no worse than Changbin if he uses the right words to describe the food and all. Felix is a huge sweet tooth, so he was mostly a dessert sort of guy, but he wasn’t half-bad himself. 

But then it was christmas, and Chan thought it’d be a cooking class would be a thoughtful gift and also serve as some bonding time on his only free night during the work-week.

Besides, he also had his own ulterior motives. 

The studio is a large hall with marble floors and scattered white tables that serve as stations. It’s clear the place is getting decent funding, because the pantry is always full, and the place is always clean. Changbin has two assistants, and his own cooking station; though his bigger, and much more well equipped. Most of the ingredients they use are already on the table, but they’re allowed some degree of creativity. 

If Minho heard the conversation Chan had with Felix, he doesn’t show it. He’s caressing his lips while staring at the products on the table, deep in thought. 

Today they’re doing Steak with a small antipasti plate.

Clearly, not the best material to make a dick out of. 

“It’s on purpose.” Minho speaks all of the sudden; “He changed the dish last minute, because he doesn’t want to embarrass himself further.” 

“If we cut it up just right, it could look like a vagina.” Chan suggests. 

Minho once again, is less than impressed, maybe even a bit displeased, and it makes Chan so itchy that he scratches his arms.

Chan doesn’t fancy himself much of a people pleaser. If he wants something, he’ll get it done even if hell freezes over in the process. He doesn’t care all that much if somebody doesn’t particularly like him; what you see is what you get. 

But fuck it, he really wants to please Minho. 

He studies astronomical objects in his line of work, and stars can be pretty boring short term; some observations and calculations take years of research. So perhaps out of habit, Chan has spent almost the entire week envisioning what they’re going to talk about and what he’s going to say and how he wants to react. 

It’s been awhile since he daydreamed so much at work, too, but the possibility of getting Minho’s approval was so appealing to him that he’d just sit there next to the computer, clicking his pen and imagining it over and over in his head. 

“Nah, this is the union of my passions in life. Ruining Changbin’s life and penises. I never saw a vagina in real life, anyway, so I wouldn’t know. ” Minho finally looks at him, but gives him a long look from head to toes; “And I’m a bit distrustful of taking your word on it. You don’t seem overly familiar with them, either.” 

“I am,” Chan laughs, raising his hands; “I’m familiar with both.” 

Minho hums, giving him another long once-over, but doesn’t say something. Instead his eyes trickle down to the left of Chan’s face, as if distracted with something. 

“Treacherous snake,”

Chan looks back to see Felix smiling softly when Seungmin reads aloud the instructions, but he stops to glare back at Minho for a moment, before continuing, seemingly unfazed.

“I knew that he’d be no help, as always.” He adds. “You will have to do.” 

“Felix likes him. So I think he’s okay.” 

“Yeah, well, just wait until you’ll catch him with his tongue down your boyfriend’s throat. He’s already slobbering all over him like he’s ready to digest him.”

“Felix isn’t my boyfriend.” Chan says, more quietly; “And uh, I think he kind of wants the digesting part to happen.” 

“He’s a poor judge of character.”

“He’s actually a really good judge of character,” Chan admits; “It’s me that has a long history of flight risks. Did you two have a fight…?” 

“Who, Seungmin and me? Oh, no, no. Don’t be silly. He’s my arch-nemesis.”

Chan bites his lip before his laughter spills out;“I never heard this word being used outside of comic books.” 

“I wanted to take my bestie, but he sort of bailed last minute.” Minho flutters his fingers on the pans hanging above his station; they’re all numbered, so it’s easier to pick the right one the recipe calls for, but Minho chooses a different one and examines it.

“He’s soft inside, my bestie.” Minho says that accusingly, as if it’s a bad quality; “But Seungmin is like me. He enjoys inflicting pain. So just for this I decided, an enemy of my enemy is my friend. But the moment a nice-looking — no offence to your friend — _twink_ sails across his path, he’s ready to abandon the vessel.” Minho takes another pan. He flips it in his hand — the way they do on tv - and puts it on the stove. 

“Today isn’t going to be about size, it’s going to be about presentation.” He decides. “Did you visit a Michelin star restaurant, before?” 

“Um, yeah. Me and Felix went to Singapore last year — oh, and also Budapest a year before that. Very artsy-fartsy. We went to eat fish and chips after we finished eating there.” 

Minho snorts at that, and looks up to see the expression on his face. 

Chan bites his lip. 

“Alright, then you know how the plate should look approximately... And now imagine; miniature dicks of all shapes of sizes; tiny eggplant miniature dicks. Bitsy cheese shaped penises. Mini cocks out of sweet potato slices. And the steak — a butt.”

It’s hard not to get swept up into this; it feels so dramatic, like this is a battle for life and death. Minho’s extremely intense, and now that he’s looking straight at him, Chan feels his inside coiling and twisting like a snake. 

“I’m going to entrust the antipasto to you, Chan, but look at me — Look at me.” He holds onto his shoulder, as if Chan isn’t focused enough on him; “You can’t mess up. They have to be perfect miniature dicks. You have to swear, by oath. This _matters_.”

.

Minho’s really good with meat. 

He brings an expensive looking alcohol bottle from Changbin’s office, that’s located above the studio, and pours it in. The entire pan lights on fire, but he doesn’t look panicked by this either and keeps sloshing the liquid and flames around while he throws spices and herbs into it. It’s obvious this isn’t his first time, but everybody else in the room sort of freak out. 

Some people quit last week, after Minho’s last display, and the ones that stayed didn’t seem very keen on Minho either, but they all look hypnotized by Minho’s neat fire trick. 

He gives it a taste test as he craves the steak to look more round and visibly perks up, his ears moving up slightly. 

Chan bites his lip. 

It’s a real trial to focus on his own tasks, and not just stare at him go. 

He’s barking orders at him and looks like he went into a zone of some kind. 

They have to use the extra time as Changbin and his two assistants go through the tables, because they’re not nearly finished — but some people just choose to stand there and watch them go instead of going around the stations with Changbin. 

They’re finished right in the nick of time; Minho is carefully positioning the last tiny dick Chan hands him just as Changbin is moving from Felix’s table to theirs. 

Chan finds Felix’s face in the crowd; because he’s curious how he did with his new partner, but Felix already rushed over so he can stand by his side, next to the station. 

He, too, is fascinated. 

Right after they he decided what to do, Minho disappeared for a few minutes, and came back with a large, matte black plate. There’s a nicely shaped spill of white sauce, on it, a butt shaped steak; it looks more like a large peach, actually, but Chan didn’t have the heart to say it out loud. All the tiny penises he carved out of various vegetables and cheeses, are scattered about, like a festival of colorful lights on the other side of the dish. Chan also decorated it with some parsley leaves he found in the pantry. 

It looks fucking awesome. The dicks don’t even throw you off, they’re not bizarre or vulgar; they fit right in. 

Changbin rubs his face in frustration. 

“I want to be insulted,” He says, finally; “But professionally saying, you’ve really outdone yourself.” 

  
  
  


"It was a team effort." Minho looks at Chan, and for some reason, it makes Chan's insides crackle nervously with anticipation.

No, it wasn't. It was all Minho; he's hella bossy, diligent and extremely meticulous.

They worked fast and in complete coordination, like clockwork.

Cooking was always a hobby for him, it was something he did as a pastime, something he relaxed with. He loved food, he loved to eat; but it was so easy to get swept up into Minho's intensity. Chan felt like he was drowning in it, for a moment there.

When the crowds dissipate from their station to go collect their things to go about their friday nights, Minho bumps his shoulder into Chan's in a way that isn't an accident. "You did good today. Seriously. You could be a good Sous chef."

"Why not an actual Chef?" Chan grins; "Just a sidekick?"

Minho thinks about it for a second; "Yeah, you'd be a bad sidekick, so I take my words back."

Chan laughs; "Why's that?"

"You're definitely protagonist material."

"I could be an antagonist, too. You just don't know me very well."

Minho snorts. “That position is already taken by me. I’m here to wreck havoc and spread chaos.” 

“Hmm, well, that’s unfortunate. I guess I’ll just stay a side-kick.”

“You could be a love interest, too.” His eyes flutter down to Chan's lips momentarily, and Chan feels every muscle in his stomach tightening at once; as if somebody pulled on his string.

"Hyung, are you ready?" Felix bumps into him from behind, giving him a bear hug, and it takes a moment to tear his gaze away. 

"Yup. All done."

Minho waves them off, and when Chan glances at him from the studio's entrance, he can see Seungmin saying something to Minho that makes him elbow him straight in the gut. He doubles down, clutching onto his belly, but still looks rather pleased with himself.

  
  
  


.

To say that he waited for next week would be an understatement.

Chan loves his job. 

He does. 

He loves that sometimes it’s very slow and sometimes it’s very fast. 

He loves the ungodly hours with the telescopes in the observatory, so he can then finish up with reports and research.

He loves the stars. And the galaxies. And the heavy smell of nighttime as he drives back to his apartment, somewhere around 4am. 

But that week felt unreasonably long; every time he looked at the clock, he felt like things were moving slower than usual, and some nights just wouldn't end. When Friday finally came, Chan was out of the door, before it was 3 o'clock.

Now the stagnant feeling of despair was replaced by nervousness that made his hands itch.

Felix isn't even ready when he arrives at his apartment.

"Sorry, I'm just about to take a bath, but Seungmin keeps sending me funny memes." He says at the door.

"You have Seungmin's phone number?"

He actually somehow didn't think it was a viable option.

He can ask Minho's number too.

"Yup." Felix shoves his face out of the bathroom door, looking especially catty. "Also, we're going on a date today. After the class."

“What the hell—? Already? Lightening fast, dude!” Chan laughs, making himself comfortable on Felix’s red sofa, then scrunches his nose; “You didn’t even tell me anything.” 

“I didn’t want to jinx it, and then it just happened! He asked me out on Monday to go see a movie with him, and we made out the entire time. So technically this is our second date.” He disappears in the bathroom again, his voice echoing when he raises it because it bounces off the ceramic tiles.

“Am I even your friend anymore? Why am I out of the loop…? We tell each other everything, man. You’re growing up too fast.”

“Shut up,” Felix throws a towel at him; ““I wanted to tell you in person. Also, when I called the other day, you kept groaning and saying you want it to be friday, and you can’t wait to see Minho. Want to tell me about that?” 

“ _No_.” Chan says in a way that sounds like a yes. 

Felix laughs.

  
  


.

Minho is standing with his hands crossed on his chest, viewing the products they have to work with.

They arrived a bit later than Chan wanted. He didn't have an actual plan or a reason to arrive earlier, he just wanted to be there when Minho first came in, but Felix took his sweet time, and Chan started panicking in his head, as closer as the hour drew in. 

Minho is also fresh out of shower. 

His sideburns and some of the little hairs on his nape are still wet. He smells of shampoo; something pleasant and soothing; like green tea and cucumbers and wild lavender.

It's not sweet, but Chan can't help but inhale it deep into his lungs.

Holy fuck, that's nice.

"We're doing Quiches." Minho looks up to him.

He never wastes time on pleasantries.

No hello or goodbye.

No weather talk.

Maybe he wasn't all that interested in Chan.

His eyelashes are so long, that when he looks back at the table, Chan waits for him to blink a couple of times just to see them move.

"H-how can you tell?" Chan finally manages, turning to the table.

"It's obvious." His tone sounds offhanded and flat; "Also, because he knows it's my specialty dish."

"I never made Quiches before." Chan admits. "So I'm once again at your disposal."

"Coincidently, that’s exactly how I’d prefer to have you." He crouches to look for something inside the cupboard below the table. 

Chan tries not to look excited. 

Minho does his best to be an absolutely annoying little shit when Changbin explains about the dish. He asks questions with really obvious answers, and then corrects Changbin's answers, until the guy looks like he's about to go down and start throwing punches. 

When they're going back to their station, Chan can't help but notice the stinkeyes.

"Changbin told me that lady, over there, complained about the two of you to the management." Seungmin gestures toward his right. 

Chan glances at Minho, but he acts like he didn't hear Seungmin talk.

"They're just jealous." Seungmin snorts; "Don't worry. Minho knows what he's doing — well, most of the time."

"All the time." Minho corrects. "I know what I'm doing all the time."

" _Most of the time_ ," Seungmin mouths that to Chan, as if he needed to insist, and Chan snorts.

Unlike last week, Minho's very languid about today's dish, and there's no sense of hurry.

Instead of barking orders on what to do right or wrong, he tells Chan to start the dish, and then oversees his actions, moving his fingers or placing his hand on his to stop him from pouring too much. 

It’s really hard to focus with him just floating around him, in his business, touching him. It ruins his mojo, and a week of carefully schemed conversations Chan had with Minho in his head. 

He decides that it calls for a new strategy; laughing and totally fucking up everything he’s doing. 

_Not_ on purpose. 

By the time they’re finished with the mixture, Chan can’t help but ask. 

"So we're actually just doing just a normal Quiche? No penises or anything...? I don’t know how I feel about that. I mean, we had a theme."

"Yeah. It’s fine. You got to change it up every once in awhile, otherwise the other party will know what to expect." He says, unscrewing the cap off the pepper bottle. "Besides, quiches are my specialty after all.” He dumps the contents of the bottle straight into the bowl, and then also hits it a couple of times, so the leftovers fall out, too. “I can’t screw it up. And I already kinda annoyed the hell out of him and ruined his day. Little victories.” 

He picks up cinnamon next, and empties that into the bowl, too. 

Chan’s eyes widen when he finally realizes what he’s doing, when he’s already picking up another spice off the small spice rack and unscrews the top.

“Dude,” He says, softly, when he sees Minho crushing bay leaves with his hand and casting them all over the mixture. 

"I wasn’t really good at cooking when I just started studying,” Minho suddenly shares, sighing; “So I decided to pick one thing, and do it as well as I possibly can. So I picked Quiche. It wasn’t korean, technically, so I wasn’t familiar with the recipe. I practiced so much, I wanted to throw up at the mere sight of it. Then practiced some more.” 

“That’s playing life on hardcore.” Chan laughs. 

Minho shrugs, idly pouring out all the salt out of the salt grinder, instead of grinding it; “Not really. I got good at it. Like crazy good. A guy once told me that eating it feels like an orgasm. Just in the mouth.” He’s staring at the spice rack, moving his hand over the bottles, until he finds the next one. 

“Sounds like a swell guy.”

Minho eyes him for a moment; “Anyway, the secret to a good Quiche is a _lot_ of everything.” 

He’s finishing up the paprika, when Chan can no longer watch him. 

"Maybe that's — err, too much." He can't help but put his hand on Minho's when half of the bottle is emptied out into the pan; "I don't want to kill him."

"Ambulances in Seoul are always 10 minutes away, don't worry. And I know what I'm doing. It'll turn out _delicious_." He opens the next jar, smells it, shrugs, and dumps the rest of it into the bowl, too. 

"I _am_ kinda worried," Chan admits, laughing, "That's attempted murder. We'll get at least 3 years."

"Well, 5, actually, I looked it up on google. During an unrelated incident." He picks up a bottle of Thyme next, and Chan rubs his face, feeling his cheeks grow hot. He’s met some truly evil people, but Minho really takes the cake on all things evil.

“Oh, relax, will you? I have a really good lawyer.” 

Chan just laughs. 

.

The Quiche is almost done in the oven, when Minho gets a call. He moves away to talk, and seems upset when he returns.

"I have to go," Chan never seen him like that before, and it makes him nervous. "I can't even have two hours to myself. Unbelievable." He huffs, shrugging his coat on. "I'll be back as soon as I can, but if I'm not here by the time Changbin tastes it, put it on video, will you?"

"No way, I'm not filming our attempted murder. We can still say it's an accident and your hand slipped."

This changes his mood, and he almost smile; “He’s going to shit himself when he tastes it.”

“He is one hundred precent shitting himself if he’s swallowing it. Ever heard of explosive diarrhea?” 

Minho was just fixing his collar, when he stops, staring at him, dead serious; “Are you doubting my abilities as a cook?” 

“Goodness, no.” Chan assures, then takes a step closer to help him with his collar; “I am doubting Changbin’s stomach.” He fixes it quickly and neatly over Minho’s coat, before raising his eyes back to Minho’s. 

He shies away, lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to say something, but didn’t. Chan had imagined this going various ways - but never this timid, like Minho melted away by the close proximity. 

“So… where are you going?” 

“Work.” The answer is quick and reserved, and Chan can see him swallowing; “I’m work a few blocks away. I trust you can hold the fort without me for the meanwhile?” 

“Aye, aye, captain.” 

“He has to say nice things. You’re in charge of that.” 

Minho nods, still avoiding his eyes, and leaves. 

.

Minho isn’t there when Changbin comes to taste their Quiche. 

It smells good — though a bit strongly of spices, and looks just as good, though a bit darker in color than the other quiches. Chan noticed that everybody tried to decorate their plates this time or add surprising ingrideants — one couple even presented it to Changbin with some show, as if this _actually_ became a contest. Changbin seemed to get a headache from this, because he was constantly rubbing his temple while going around the stations. 

Chan, too, decorated the plate with some sauce, but not much was needed, because Minho already made the Quiche look professional. He cut up the middle part of the tomatoes instead of using the entire thing in the quiche, and settled them nicely into the the mixture, while it was baking. They looked like rose petals now that they’ve been baked. It’s still the best looking Quiche, and people (excluding Felix) don’t like him. 

“Will there be an actual dick he cut off somebody’s corpse inside…?” Changbin asks quietly, before all the people huddled closer to have a look at it. 

“No,” Chan can’t help but raise his eyebrows up, slightly sorry; “I was instructed to remind you that you have to say nice things.” 

Changbin inhales deeply, and looks around. It’s a bit stormy and cold today, so the mood is lower than usual. Maybe it just feels like it because Minho isn’t there. Chan isn’t sure. 

“Well, it looks great.” He announces, louder this time. “The overall presentation truly triumphs, both in color and — smell. Let’s put it to the taste test.” He’s about to cut himself a small piece, but he looks up to Chan who shakes his head at him, so he cuts an even smaller one. 

He chews on it for a second, two — and for a moment seems to like it — but then the spices must hit the tongue, and he gags in the worst way possible, spitting it out half chewed glob into his hand. 

There’s absolute silence in the room. 

“Sometimes the best way to get all the flavor out of Quiche is to chew on it and spit it out. ” Changbin gets out of the situation rather admirably, and Chan respects that — but it seems like somebody in the room was extremely squirmish, because she heaves and then pukes all over the waxed floor. 

The smell of spices mixed with vomit is so strong, that the studio is emptied out in less than 5 minutes. 

Even the girl that puked leaves, her friend fanning her and excusing her as they hurry out of the room. 

Chan feels personally responsible for that, so he stays to help Changbin close up. His assistants both glare at Chan as he helps. 

.

When he returns from his last run to the pantry, Changbin is already sitting on one of the windowsills in the studio, cigarette in his mouth, and a glass of whiskey in his hand, looking through some papers. 

“Why do you let him do it…?” Chan can’t help but ask, sighing as he does. “You could lose your job.” 

“Why do you play along with him…?” He counters.

Chan shrugs; “It seemed harmless fun at first, now I’m scared of him.” He starts laughing in the middle of that sentence. “I’m seriously sorry about today, by the way.” 

Changbin leans back a little, and snorts.

One of his assistants comes to bow and bid him goodbye, before leaving.

Chan decides to take his leave, too — it’s past 8pm, and technically, there’s no reason for Minho to return. 

“We have a dongsaeng, the two of us.” Changbin says, just as Chan is about to open his mouth; “Yang Jeongin. Good kid. Thing is — he’s crazy trusting, sometimes. Long story short, kid been dreaming about following his hyungs’ footsteps, and wanted to start culinary school. Thing is, he comes from a bad family situation. Instead of coming to us, he talks to some shady asshole that got a restaurant across town that promises to cut him internship or something, so he thinks it’s his lucky day because culinary school costs a fortune. So Jeongin signed some papers, but when he realized it’s just a slave contract and wanted to quit, the guy hired a bunch of lawyers and sued him. Fucking crook. It’s not even the first time I hear about this.” Changbin takes a long drag out of a cigarette. “Now the kid doesn’t want to accept our money and has to work multiple jobs just to pay this guy off. Says he got himself into it, and he’ll get himself out. That’s Minho’s fault, by the way. He’s exactly like that, too. Fucking horrible situation. Few months back, me and Lee Minho got drunk. It was his birthday, I think? Anyway, so we're both drunk and angry for Jeongin. I don’t even know what exactly the bet was about? I think we decided to trash the guy’s place and were betting who’d do the most damage. If I won, he’d buy me a toyota prius. If he wins, I give him my firstborn. We pull up to the guy’s restaurant, and decide to _infiltrate the enemy fortress_ — his words, not mine. He talks like that.” 

“Yes, I’ve noticed.” Chan laughs. 

“Not my proudest moment, I was seriously drunk. I got cold feet last minute — But hyung - Hyung’s a really _dedicated_ person. I was supposed to at least keep on the lookout, but I fell asleep like a baby. Cops went right past me. He spent the entire night of his birthday in jail, and get this, I had his phone. So he can’t even call us. And I wake up totally smashed, god knows where. By the time I finally realized what happened and came with Seugmin to bail him out, he’s there for almost a day. Turns out that fucker Lee Minho - drunk as a skunk - went straight up to that guy’s office, found all the papers Jeongin signed on, and shoved them between his buttcheeks, so the cops won’t take them away.”

Chan can’t control his laughter at this point, because what the fuck.

“The guy had to drop the lawsuit against Jeongin, because now all his slave papers were gone. And Seungmin had enough sense to use Jeongin’s paper against him. And trust me when I tell you — a person like Minho will find what to do with my firstborn. Fucking Rumpelstiltskin, that guy. So it’s good. He can come and play out his little schemes to his heart’s content; honestly, he’s more mad about me falling asleep on the sidewalk, than the bet, and that’s absolutely valid—” 

The door to the studio opens, and Minho walks in, hands in his pockets, and nose red from the cold. 

He sniffs, and then finally notices Chan and Changbin, mumbling something about the smell, more to himself. 

“Speak of the devil and he shall appear,” Changbin says, more quietly. 

“I heard that.” He takes Changbin’s cup and takes two long gulps. “Fuck, what’s up with this smell?”

“Your Quiche made somebody puke.” Chan explains. 

Minho pointedly looks at Changbin. 

Changbin raises his hands up; “I only gagged.” 

“Why are you being dramatic for?” Minho shoves him with his fingers; “Leonardo DiCaprio ate my Quiche and said it’s delicious. So you could’ve at least swallowed, you ungrateful little hobbit.” 

“So you keep rubbing in my face every chance you get.” Changbin rolls his eyes and puts his cigarette down on the banister. He gets up; “I’m about to get a call from management and it’s not going to be pleasant, so waddle off.” He goes up the stairway into the room upstairs that oversees all the stations. 

The studio looks eerie now that it’s empty, and some of the lights are closed. 

Chan was never there first; and now that there’s no people occupying the space, it feels like time is wrapped here; trickling differently than in real life. 

It still smells very faintly of puke, and a bit of floor detergent.

“You’re not giving a lift to Felix today?” 

“He’s on a date with Seungmin.” 

“Youngsters sure move fast these days.” Minho sighs, walking further inside. “Forgot my charger.” Minho glances back as he goes, and Chan follows almost automatically, as if Minho called him to follow. 

“Leonardo Dicaprio? Seriously?” 

“He’s shorter than he looks.” Minho eagerly adds, but when Chan waits for him to elaborate on that, he doesn’t. He waves his charger at him when he finds it. 

“Did you actually meet him, or is that like — some code word?”

“Me and Changbin, using codewords? Never. We have more class than that. You barely dented the Quiche.” He lifts it off of where Chan left it. 

When he turns to Chan, his lip is visibly downturned, though Chan can’t really call it a pout. 

“You should take it home with you. A token of my hard work.” 

“You’re kidding, right? I know what you added in there.” 

Minho furrows his eyebrows; “It’s just a couple of spices! Why are you making such a big deal…?” He complains, using a softer voice; “You could barely feel them in the Quiche, the custard overpower their presence. Here,” He finds a spoon and drops it into the Quiche “I’ll try it first, as a show of trust. And then you have to have some.”

“I just ate. From Felix’s Quiche. So I’m not hungry.” 

Minho squints at him. 

“Also,” Chan half-laughs; “I have so much more to live for,” 

“You don’t think I’m good at cooking.” Minho deadpans, his eyebrows lifting up in surprise.

“No, I think you’re decent. To mess up on purpose, you have to know what to do wrong.” 

Minho lifts it up; “Yeah, okay, if you want this to work, you’ll learn to say what I want you to say.” He puts a spoonful of Quiche into his own mouth, and chews on it for a second. 

His nose twitches. 

His nose twitches because what he’s eating is fucking disgusting, but he continues powering through it, chewing as slowly as possible, before finally swallowing. The noise it makes when it passes through his throat makes Chan shoulders shake, but he bites onto his lip. 

“MMmnn!” He opens his eyes wide, as if his taste receptors had only now deciphered what he chewed; “It’s delicious! Try it.” 

The process of realizing he's crushing on Minho was so slow that now that it takes concrete shape, it feels abrupt and crazy. Like a fever dream.

The way his nose twitches, or how obviously bad he is at lying — or even how his bangs curl over his ears — he feels like pointing at all those things, because they’re proof that Minho belongs with him, that he’s right for him. 

“This...?” He suddenly asks as if his mind had just reloaded the right program, as Minho digs through the battered pastry for another piece. 

“What?” 

“You said, if I want _this_ to work. What does ‘this’ mean?” 

“I said that…?” He avoids gracelessly, and lifts the spoon at him; “Say _ah_ ,” he holds his hand below the spoon as he feeds it to him.

Chan draws away with his face, until his second chin appears, but Minho’s spoon follows him. “I already had some.” He reminds; “You have to have some too.”

All he tastes is the cheesy custard for a second, but then it explodes inside his mouth. Now there’s various things inside his mouth that can only be described as; car oil, dead puppies, and broken hopes — in that specific order. 

Chan tries to swallow, but his throat clogs up from receiving such evil into his body, so he ends up coughing into his hand. 

“Don’t be rude, you have to say it’s delicious.” He instructs. 

“Delicious.” Chan isn’t sure if he’s coughing or laughing when he says that, filling himself a glass off the little sink at their station. He takes a few long gulps until he notices Minho’s eyes are focused on his adam’s apple moving as he drinks. 

When his eyes finally move away, Chan feels as if somebody zapped him with a jolt of electricity to the nuts.

He hates playing this game, and he feels jealous of Felix all of the sudden — how easily he and Seungmin just worked themselves out — and at the same time, he wants to play it with Minho. Flirt and tease and push and pull until Minho wants just as bad as Chan wants. 

Minho moves away to the other side of the station, running his finger along the white wood of the counter.

“You know, I had a talk with Changbin while I was helping him with the food,” Chan follows him. 

He expects Minho to ask about what, but he doesn’t turn around to face him, even when Chan is directly behind him. He puts the glass on top of the empty spice rack gently, and when he looks up, he meets Minho’s eyes. 

“Turns out I’m actually older than the both of you.” 

“Huh,” He says, not nearly as surprised as Chan expected him to be. “So should I call you Hyung from now on?” 

“Yeah.” Chan snorts softly. He’s closer now, and Chan can feel his breath.

Minho licks his upper lip, as if he’s going to try to say it, and Chan hands itch to reach out and just take him to himself. He’s right there, tangible and sweet and ready —- right until the moment he gets a phone call. 

His expression changes drastically when he sees the caller ID. He rejects it and looks back at him, looking more sullen. 

“I have to go. There’s a fuck-up at work.” 

“You work friday nights, too?” 

“I work almost every night.” Minho shrugs; “But I’ll see you next week?” 

“Yeah.” Chan nods. “I’ll be there,” he adds, then regrets it, because it’s not like this is a date, or anything. 

“Bye, _hyung_.” It’s the way he pronounces the word - coyly, with that ever-knowing little smile on his face - that runs a shiver down his spine and right up to his balls.

He puts the phone to his ear, and is already barking orders to whoever is on the other side before he’s even leaving the studio. 

Today isn’t the day, then. 

But there’s always next week.

.

Felix puts his hands on Chan’s cheeks right before they enter the studio. 

“What is our goal for today?” He uses his stern voice at him, as if Chan is a soldier he’s preparing for war. 

“Ask Minho’s number!” Chan answers, with the same tone. 

“How do we do this?”

“I have to do it when the time is right—” 

“No!” He raises his voice and squeezes his cheeks together until Chan’s lips pucker up; “We talked about this in the car, first — we ask for his number.” 

“Yes, but I can’t just march in there—” 

“Then, we text him our dick pic—”

Chan just laughs at that, unable to hold it in anymore. 

“Once he’ll see that, there’s no way he won’t ask you out himself, dude.” 

“Thank you, Felix, that is _very_ flattering, but I think maybe I should ask him out first. Like on a date.” 

“Sure, I’ll go out with you.” 

Felix removes his hands as if scorched, but Chan refuses to look behind him, and instead just closes his eyes. 

No.

Please, no. 

Minho takes a few steps closer, looking between the two of them. “Is it really big?” He asks Felix that, instead of Chan, because Chan refuses to move or open his eyes. 

Usually Minho is already inside by the time Chan and Felix arrive, so this is _extremely_ unfortunate. 

“It’s the size of my forearm.” Felix flaunts, and Chan opens one eye to see the absolute catastrophe of Felix folding his sweater sleeve to show Minho his forearm. “In college they called BangXL.” 

He’s, hands down, the best wingman ever and the best friend Chan could ever ask for, but dear god, just make him stop talking. 

He doesn’t remember the last time his cheeks were burning. 

“And you know this because…” 

“Oh, don’t worry, we roomed together during college. Nothing like that.” 

“Huh,” Minho gives Chan a long knowing look, and slurps from his americano as he pushes the door to the studio with his back. “Good to know.” 

The door closes after him, and Chan grunts audibly. 

“I’m sorry!” Felix says; “I didn’t see him coming behind your back. But hey — I scored you a date! Now you don’t have to angst about it. Mission accomplished.” He claps his hands together and slings his arm around Chan’s shoulders. 

.

“I wondered for a moment why’d I need both your and Felix’s dickpics,” 

“Can you just please let it go already?” Chan whispers back, laughing and covering his face. 

Changbin is explaining something about how to tell good products from bad products at the supermarket, and Minho felt it’s the perfect time to discuss things. 

People keep looking back and giving them searing looks, but he’s a real chatterbox today of all days. 

Chan’s ears are so red, they’re about to burst into flames. 

“but then I realized it might be a comparison thing. Friendly competition. I’m not sure what Seungmin will think about it, because he’s shockingly monogamous.” 

“It was just a figure of speech.” He tries to defend his friend; “He meant that _I’ll_ send my dick pic. We just do things as a team sometimes.” Chan hesitates for a second, then snorts; “Shocking monogamous? Is that really shocking?” 

“Figure of speech,” Minho teases back; “Would it fit in one picture? I mean, Felix looks scrawny at first glance, but his forearm is quite large.” 

“Shhh!” Some girl turns around with furrowed eyebrows. 

Chan puts a finger to his mouth, gesturing emptily that they’re going to be quiet, but the moment she turns around, Minho continues; “I’m too impatient to wait, do you have dickpics in your phone gallery? I want to examine the goods.” 

“Oh my god,” Chan laughs into his hand. 

“How does it fit into your pants like that?” Now he’s looking at Chan’s crotch, and Chan instinctively hides it from his gaze with his hand. “Can you tie it up in a knot when it’s limp? I saw some guy doing that on pornhub.”

“What sort of porn are you watching, exactly...?” He sputters out another laugh before he can help himself.

They get another annoyed glance, this time from a man. 

“BangXL is such a good porn star name.” Minho suggests; “Have you considered this as a career option—” He suddenly sits up straighter, biting onto his lip as he turns to him, and holds onto his arm as if he got the brightest idea ever; “You know what should be my porn star name? LeeKnow. It’s like Minho? But also you-know-lee-know? And since there’s already a theme with knowledge—” 

Chan keeps his hand on his mouth to muffle the outraged laughter. 

“— I should just talk about weird facts while you fuck me.” 

Chan doesn’t even know what to answer to that, so he just stares at him openly with his mouth ajar, while his entire insides turn into pulp and then also combust inside his body. 

Okay. 

“Fine, maybe that’s a bit far-fetched, I’d have to come prepared with facts and all.” He looks a bit disappointed by Chan’s lack of response. 

Changbin is actively staring at them as he talks, annoyed, but doesn’t stop his lecture for them.

Minho lifts his hands up, as if he’s not the one who's talking, and then points to Chan, and Chan feigns absolute outrage.

“We could call it Knowledge Hour with LeeKnow.” He says more quietly, when Changbin finally turns away. 

“Bold of you to assume I’d last an hour, I’m honestly ready to jizz now.” 

Minho looks at his crotch again, eyebrows lifted; “Maybe I should cop a feel.” He suggested; “To relieve you.”

“And your curiosity.” 

“And my curiosity.” He repeats after him laughing. 

The door opens behind them, and Changbin nods to the newcomer, a polite but small smile stretching on his lips. 

Minho immediately turns around, and it seems like he knows the newcomer, too, because his entire face falls, and his back straightens, as if he’s on high alert. 

“Fuck,” Is all he says. 

Changbin invites the newcomer to the front, which earns a few excited whispers from their class.

“Why fuck?” Chan asks, but isn’t answered, because the entire room immediately starts clapping, including Felix, who turns around to give Chan an overjoyed look. 

Chan remembers the guy from somewhere, probably from tv. 

Apparently not many introductions are needed. Changbin drops a few shows he’s been on, and he’s obviously has quite a name for himself in the fine dining world. 

.

Chan musters the courage to ask only after they’re already at their stations, and Minho started to cook; “So who's that?” 

The guy showed them two rather quick recipes; scallops in butter and garlic and his own restaurant specialty; squid with brandy and cream. None of those looked too difficult, though the techniques he was applying were quite unusual. 

But Minho stood there quietly, hands crossed on his chest, and watched him go in complete silence. 

“You don’t know Kim Seokjin? He’s been on literally every channel at this point. Worked in a three Michelin stars restaurant in France as a Sous Chef, too.” 

“That’s great and all, but you seem to know him personally.” 

Minho turns to him but then takes a napkin out of the stack on their station; “Hold on, you seem to have gotten some jealousy on your face—”

Chan pushes him out of spite, and he laughs, pushing him back with his shoulder. 

“I do know him personally.” He says finally; “Does that bother you?”

“Maybe a little. More because of your reaction.” He admits. 

Minho stares at him for a long moment, as if he’s trying to decipher what Chan is thinking, even though that is exactly what Chan is thinking, give-or-take.

“Guys, this — isn’t a cooking competition!” Kim Seokjin laughs after he looks at how Felix’s dishes are coming along; “One might think you’re trying to outbest each other… but we’re here to learn and have fun! Changbin’s recipes are bulletproof!”

Although he says that, everybody else resumes honing their craftsmanship dishes the moment he stops talking. 

Chan knows where this is coming from; in the last couple of classes, everybody was trying to best Minho’s dishes, looking up extreme versions of the same recipes online, or new decoration techniques they saw on youtube. 

If Minho wasn’t messing up so _spectacularly_ every time, this might have been just a normal cooking class, but now they’re all ready to cut roses out of their carrots and put their scallops on top of each other in the typical fashion they do at fancy restaurants. 

Kim Seokjin’s eyes finally land on Minho after Seungmin tells him something, and it makes him laugh. 

“Minho,” He calls him by his name, when he reaches their table.

“Hyung,” He greets back; “I thought you’re in Brussels for the winter.” 

“Had to come back for something not-work related.” He says; “It’s been awhile since I’ve seen you.” 

“Yeah. Four years.” 

“Had it been that long?” The man marvels, and Chan realizes he’s ridiculously tall, and suddenly this is what annoys him.

“It really has.” 

“Let’s catch up, shall we? Or am I interrupting your bullying session?”

Minho makes a face, having been figured out, but sighs, and unties the cooking class apron, and hangs it back on the station. 

He gives Chan a long knowing look, before licking his thumb and wiping Chan’s cheek. “You really do have something on your face.” He says. 

Kim Seokjin places a hand on Minho’s nape as they walk through the studio, and the guy actually glances back at Chan. 

Chan bends the metal spoon he’s holding.

They don’t come back when everybody are finishing up, or even when Changbin is doing his rounds. 

Chan half-assed his scallops and barely touched the squid, because he’s in a shit mood the entire lesson. 

He waits until everybody files out of the room, and then some more, and then stalls by chatting with Changbin about the next lesson (their last). 

He has to drive Seungmin and Felix, though, so it’s not like he can stay waiting, and as Seungmin puts it — Minho might not actually come. 

And he doesn’t. 

The ride in the car is a bit tense.

Chan expected Felix to climb to the back seat with Seungmin, but he sits right next to him at the front. 

At first he thinks it’s because he wants to be there for Chan emotionally, but as more time passes, Chan realizes the tense atmosphere is also because Felix and Seungmin aren’t talking between themselves. 

“So…” Chan swallows thickly, deciding to break the ice; “What are your plans—”

“Hyung, you really deserve better.” Seungmin says all of the sudden, his voice sounding final. 

Felix glances at him, but doesn’t say anything.

“Um, thanks?” Chan can’t help himself, then nibbles at his lip, before finally asking; “Was that his ex…?” 

“Something like that.”

That’s really a really unsettling answer to a pretty easy question.

“Is he still hung up on him…?” 

“In a way.” 

Chan feels even more uneasy about that answer. 

“Is Minhol poly?” He suddenly remembers what Minho said about Seungmin. 

Not that he has a problem with that; just that he’s not sure if that lifestyle would suit _them_ . If there is a ‘ _them’_ , which is awfully presumptuous. He might have pulled it off with somebody else, but he’s obviously going through a ridiculous jealousy episode over a guy he didn’t even kiss yet. Worst part is that Chan had the ridiculous habit of overthinking until his brain went on fire, so this conversation with Seungmin isn’t making it any easier. 

“No, he’s not. He doesn’t date. And thank god for that, because he’s partially insane, and I’d feel sorry for anybody who’d be stupid enough to date him.” Felix gives him a long look, but he pretends he didn’t notice and continues; “Minho-hyung has a crazy schedule, crazy standards, and he lives crazily, too. To keep up with that, you have to ascend godhood.” 

Chan raises his eyebrows, and puckers his lips. “But technically, it’s _doable_.” 

“Did you not hear me?” Seungmin shuffles closer so he can lean on the front seats. “Seriously. You can never know what that guy is thinking. Half of the time, he just does things because he enjoys chaos. If you’re grinding your head over something he did, it’s very likely he just did it because he felt like it in that specific moment, and forgot all about it by now.” 

It feels like Seungmin is just in a bad mood. 

“So he’s fickle? That’s what you’re saying?”

“Perhaps not fickle — neurotic, more like. He gets stressed over the smallest things, sometimes. And then starts murmuring about it to himself, acting like nobody can hear him. It’s crazy annoying. You can’t have a conversation with him because he doesn’t like your coconut shampoo smell. That’s how far he can go. And also — I’ve been his friend since highschool, and I’m still not sure what that guy considers as romance. Trust me, I’ve been there.” 

“You’ve been there,” Chan echoes. 

“I was interested in him for a brief moment when I was very young.”

Felix clears his throat, annoyed; “Well, this took an unexpected turn.”

“I had a really self-destructive phase in highschool, And I still have no idea what I did wrong till this day. He still hates me. Also thinks I’m one of his best friends. I mean I am. But seriously, Hyung, you can find something better. It’s just really hard to click with him.” 

“ _I_ kinda click with him.” Chan shrugs. 

He does. It’s true. 

“Maybe I should text him.” 

Seungmin seems frustrated with him; “Don’t text him first. That might be a breach of his already slippery personal space. Wait until he texts you first.” 

“How can he text me first if he doesn’t have my number?” 

“If you want my advice; don’t chase after him — make him chase after you. In fact, the best way to approach him is to write down your number in a little note and seal it in a bottle, which you will then throw into the ocean. If it reaches him by some miracle inside the belly of a fish he just gutted, then he’s all yours. Good luck.” 

Chan laughs; “Oddly specific, but okay.” 

“I still reserve the right to tell you _I told you_ _so_ when it all goes tragically to shit.” Seungmin falls back onto the seats. 

“Well, Chan already asked him out.”

Seungmin stays very quiet. 

“So you missed your chance at him, and ended up with me. Tough luck.” Felix adds, and Chan presses his lips together. They’re definitely fighting.

“I never—” Seungmin pauses, and then just crosses his hands on his chest; “I don’t want to date Minho. I want to date you. Even if you’re super stubborn.” 

“I’m not stubborn, if I’m right.” 

Chan really wants to ask, but doesn’t want to intervene; they’re still generally a new couple, and working it out themselves would be the best way to build a strong relationship, but Felix turns to him and immediately informs Chan; “Seungmin and me had a fight.” 

“Don’t involve him in it, he has—”

“Ask about what.” 

“Do I have to—”

“Yes. You have to. Ask.” 

“About what…?”

“We were talking about French recipes, because Kim Seokjin has a restaurant in France. Then Seungmin mentioned something about how Napoleon was short. I told him that Napoleon wasn’t actually short. He disagreed. Now he’s mad because I was right. He’s literally just an inch below me.” 

“He’s Changbin’s height.” Seungmin deadpans. “How is Changbin’s height not short? You’re just too stubborn to admit you’re wrong.”

“Because that was above average for french men during that time!” Felix raises his voice a little. 

Chan can’t believe this is an actual argument, but they sit there in complete silence for another 5 minutes, until Chan has to talk about something. 

“So, um, Seungmin, what do you work as?”

“I’m a lawyer.” 

“Oh. Oh — that’s right, you bailed Minho that one time he got taken to custody— Changbin told me.” 

“That one time…? Oh, boy…"

Chan laughs; "W-what does that mean?"

"Minho is there every month on average. Mostly, because his clients are snobby little shits, but also because he can't handle critique. If something is returned, he immediately lashes out. Or one of his employees files an official complaint against his -- err, emotional abuse."

“What does he do… exactly?” 

“I’m not sure if I should say.” 

“Answer one goddamn question without being vague, or you’re not getting laid.” Felix warns.

“I’m getting laid anyway,” Seungmin sounds awfully pleased about it, too. “I didn’t fuck up our dish today, and that was the deal. Why do you think I’m even in this car right now? I could’ve went home.” 

“What deal?” Chan glances at Felix as he turns a corner. 

Felix suddenly beams at him, as if he forgot about the argument at once. 

“The first time we traded places, he was sabotaging me. I caught him red-handed next lesson. What was I to do? I had nothing else to offer.” 

“I could think of a few—”

“Don’t ruin it.” Felix scolds, using a deeper voice, and Chan presses his lips together, chuckling. 

“Minho said we’d cover more ground if I moved to your team. Usually I don’t support any of his ideas, but I did think that was brilliant. Also I could have an excuse to be with Felix. And Changbin’s pain brings me joy.” 

“So it was Minho’s idea? To trade places? He called you a treacherous snake.”

“He always calls me a treacherous snake. He made me a cake that said that for my 21st birthday. It was a chocolate cake with rum and cherries.” Felix looks very cross when Seungmin starts describing the cake (or maybe mentioning Minho again is what got to him) so Seungmin adds; “It’s nothing like Felix’s brownies, but it was an okay cake.” 

Felix’s frown turns into a happy little smile, and he unbuckles him and climbs to the backseat as Chan and Seungmin both scold him because he’s driving and it’s dangerous. 

He fits himself around him like an oversized monkey and announces; “Fight completed.” as if they’re in an RPG game. 

  
  


.

  
  


When he arrives next week, Minho isn’t there. 

He’s not there when Changbin explains what they’re going to do, or when they’re already released to do their thing in their stations. 

Seungmin has no idea where he is, too. Changbin starts from his table when he decides to make his rounds; “Listen, I know it might be a lot to ask, but all those complaints about Minho and his cooking got the board breathing down my neck, so that guy over there is here to evaluate me.” He gestures toward the back. Chan glances there, to see a guy with a narrow face and round spectacles, and Changbin scolds him, by averting him to the left; “Don’t look…! I didn’t say you should look — jesus, I’m already walking on glass, but Minho isn’t going to come today, fortunately, so could you please, please—”

“Why isn’t Minho coming?” 

“His work was an absolute fire dumpster today. If he’ll be here, it might be like super late into the lesson anyway.” 

“So —”

“Please, just make the custard normal. No dicks. No weird food. Just normal cheese and egg custard. I’ll taste great. You can take it to your mom, or something. I’m sure she’ll be proud.” 

Chan nods absently. He wants to ask more, but Changbin clears his throat, nods, and goes to Felix’s station next, to check on the color of their custard. 

Chan never actually made a custard before, but it turns out nice. It browns in all the right places, and looks fairly presentable. 

Changbin mouths ‘thank you’ after they finish viewing his dish. 

He does a small, but rather nice outro monologue, telling them a few more tips and small tricks for the kitchen, just in case. 

Chan keeps glancing at the door every small sound he hears, but Minho doesn’t come. 

Everybody clap. 

The evaluator the board sent seems rather pleased.

Seungmin and Felix leave. Today is unusually warm outside for a february, so they want to take a stroll in downtown. 

Chan helps Changbin finish up a few things, and watches Changbin’s assistants start cleaning and decides to do a thing. 

Leave it to fate, just like Seungmin said. 

When he finally leaves, Changbin calls out to him; “Don’t you want to take your custard?” 

“Nah, leave it there.” Chan says. “Just in case.” 

“Just in case what?” Changbin’s nose scrunches as he walks over Chan’s station to get a look at it. 

Chan is somewhat embarrassed about it all of the sudden, so he just leaves before he can see Changbin’s reaction. 

  
  


.

  
  


It’s not unusual for him to stay up until piss o’clock, but it’s usual for him to eat copious amounts of ice-cream at 3am. 

Felix brought it over because he sensed a disturbance in the force. He thinks Chan got dumped. 

Technically, it’s not wrong or right. 

Nothing really happened.

They didn’t even kiss. 

It was an ‘ _almost’_ — but never really tangible to be a ‘ _something’_.

He didn’t even think he liked him all that much, and now he thinks he likes him too much for it to be normal. So perhaps this is for the best. 

It’s fine. By some unfortunate turn of events, Chan was too much of a pussy to get his number, so he left him a custard. The custard said ‘For BangXL call:’ and his number. So technically, it’s not inside a fish’s belly, but it’s close enough by his book.

Besides, if Minho really wanted him, he’d find a way to reach him — even without the custard. There’s Changbin now that sends him a “dude, idk how to tell you this but your custard was really desperate, i feel bad” and there’s Seungmin, who's now in the same group chat with him and Felix under the name ‘Team Lixie!’. Both of them have their number. Both of them are Minho’s friends. If he wants his number, he can get it.

And maybe he’ll see him again, sometime. 

Like at Felix and Seungmin’s wedding. 

If they’ll get married. 

When he wakes up, he’s a bit groggy from all the late-night sugar. 

At first he thinks he got a spam message from a viagra company of some kind, but then he rereads it after brushing his teeth and it dawns to him that it’s from Minho. 

“Big dick, come quick! 1025 skz street. 13:00 sharp, unpunctual people turn me off.”

It’s 12:34 when he sees that message, and he has zero idea how he makes it to downtown Seoul, with Sunday noon’s traffic. 

He’s there at 13:01. 

Skz is a long street filled with restaurants and entertainment buildings; it’s pretty close to the cooking class studio; Chan saw it as he drove by. 

1025 skz street is a restaurant called ‘The Three Cats’.

It’s from the fancy kind, the one that requires reservation. Chan actually remembers this place. Felix really wanted to go because they had a fusion Kitchen, but they were overbooked for the next two months.

It’s closed now, though. They open in the evening, probably, closer to dinner time. 

Or… not? The door opens, and Minho peeks out.

He takes him in for a moment, examining him from top to bottom, checking if this Chan is the same Chan from the cooking class.

Chan runs a hand over his hair, trying to straighten it to no avail. He probably has a massive bedhead. 

Minho looks right, then left, then opens the door wider; “Come on, before somebody will see you.” 

“Why?” Chan asks, and then realizes with dread that this is not the first time Minho has broken into a restaurant. He vaguely remembers Changbin’s story. It involved cops. And Minho spending the night in jail. “Should we be here?” 

“Technically, no, but I had no other place to make Quiche. My kitchen is absolutely busted.”

They stand there for a moment, and it’s dark inside; all the curtains are drawn, and there’s only far away light from inside. 

Minho is nibbling at his lower lip, before suddenly leaning in and giving him a short, almost chaste kiss on the lips. He ruffles his hair. “I like it like that.” He tells him, and disappears inside. 

It catched him off guard. He continues to stand there, thinking what just happened until Minho calls his name. 

There’s a hall, with a small podium, clearly the foyer where usually guests are greeted by a host. 

The place is much bigger than Chan expected, and somewhat cozy; there’s live vegetation on most of the walls and all over the ceiling. Every table is designed differently and has a different set of chairs, and it’s all separated into little nooks and compartments, large green plants or golden folding screens keeping every table as intimate as possible. The only theme to it all is the gold-mint-black color. If it weren’t that dark, Chan would’ve loved just to explore around the place. 

There’s an opened window to the kitchens, where the light is and Minho is there, busying himself with something. 

“You loved the Quiche so much last time,” Minho says, glancing when Chan is close enough. “I figured I should make you another one.” 

“Whose restaurant is this…?” Chan looks around one last time, this time noticing totally different details; like three big portraits of cats above the bar, that’s right next to the kitchen’s window; it’s well stocked and looks like how Chan would expect the slytherin common room to look; dark wood, and a lot of green. 

“Changbin?” 

“Psht please, that guy still has eons to learn before he can open up his own place. Come here, before it’s too cold.” Minho orders, bending down to reach for something. 

Chan hesitates before he walks in through the heavy looking metal door. 

The kitchen is vast, too, clearly a lot of people work here. 

Minho is wearing the place’s apron, with the three cats logo.

Chan didn’t see him for two weeks, and it all comes rushing in, right into his crotch. He always stands poised, his back straight like a ruler. Even the way the apron sits on his waist, and how it gets a bit tight in the thigh area makes his mouth a little dry. 

“Hi,” He blurts out all of the sudden, as if they didn’t trade a word until now. 

Minho snorts, looking away for a moment, as if he can’t believe him. The smile on his face is unguarded, small but genuine, and Chan really likes that. 

“Hi.” He returns, humouring him, then holds onto his hand and pulls him a bit closer to the counter. 

“I’ve already had your Quiche.” Chan instinctively takes a step back. “Also, I want to get laid, but I’m not sure if I’m willing to go to jail for it.” 

“The fact that you’re not sure speaks volumes, now say _‘ah’_.” 

Chan shakes his head. “It’s sizzling hot. I’m not good with spicy things. If you’ll burn my refined taste buds, I won’t forgive you. Even if I really like you.” 

Minho blows on the spoon gently; he holds his other hand below it, so it won’t drop, each blow careful and soft, as if he’s blowing on a baby’s face. 

Chan hesitates, and Minho lifts his eyebrows at him, urging him to decide.

To hell with it. 

He waits for the explosion of herbs and spices, but instead something entirely else explodes in his mouth. It tastes divine. 

For something so ridiculously uninspired like quiche, a myriad of flavour and scents dance inside his mouth. He actually puts a hand on his mouth, grunting at the taste. 

Minho looks rather pleased with himself. 

“This is— absurdly good.” He says, taking the spoon off Minho’s hand to have another taste. “Did you actually follow the recipe this time?” 

He didn’t actually eat breakfast yet, so he’s hungry. 

“You still don’t get it?” 

“What?” 

Minho snorts, and hops up the counter as Chan chews. “So what do you do for a living…? I never asked.” 

“I’m an astrophysicist. I study the stars.” Chan boasts. It always sounds romantic when he says that, and other people don’t have to know that he gets stuck calculating long numbers and radioactive emissions.

“I’m a scorpio.” Minho informs him. Chan almost chokes on the piece in his mouth. “So that probably explains everything you need to know about me. Or our compatibility.” 

Chan thinks he’s serious for a moment, but then he falters and smiles, unable to hold it in; “I know you’re a scientist, don’t worry.” 

“I’m a research assistant and I mostly stay up late.” He admits; “Not as exciting as breaking and entering into other people’s restaurants. I have no idea if our signs are compatible. We should check.”

“They’re not.” Minho’s sigh sounds mostly disappointed. “I checked, on an unrelated occasion to this.” 

“Of course, you did.” Chan picks up the Quiche — it’s really good, and he’s really hungry, then pauses with the spoon midair; “How’d you know my zodiac sign?” 

“Have I told you that I have three cats?” Minho changes a subject while smiling, and Chan laughs. 

“No, you didn’t.” He answers.expecting Minho to continue, but Chan’s eyes land on Minho’s apron, and the logo on it, his brain suddenly starts imploding on himself. “Wait.” 

Minho waits until Chan processes it. 

“Wait.” He says again, looking around the room. “You’re a chef — you’re _the_ chef?” 

“Very surprising I never mentioned the cats. I usually talk about my cats a lot. Soonie, Doongie, Dori,” He points to the apron, naming each cat by name. “Aka, The three cats.” He lifts his hands up and lets them fall. 

It all starts making an ugly kind of sense now, that Chan hates himself for not figuring it out sooner. 

“You’re the chef? The _main_ chef?” He echoes after himself, because he needs a boolean answer that he can process. 

Minho nods. “They call it executive Chef, yes. Two years in Germany as a saucier. Three as a Sous Chef for Kim Seokjin’s korean branch restaurant.” 

“So — he’s basically your former boss? Not an old flame? Seungmin said—” 

“Seungmin and I are too similar and too different to coexist on the same plane of reality.” Minho cuts him off; “Don’t listen to anything he says, he thinks I make decisions by throwing darts while blindfolded.” 

“You don’t…?” Chan manages to blurt out, and Minho shoves another spoon into his mouth, when he laughs. 

“He told me that he may have talked shit about me to you — don’t worry, he already got punished for it, I sent his naked baby photos to Felix—”

“Was not worried about that.” Chan says while chewing. 

“—So before you go around assuming things about me, I don’t date people because I don’t have time. People who date want all those romantic evening dates mumbo-jumbo, and my evenings are usually spent here. Besides, every time something happens, I have to run and fix it, because I like things done a very specific way and I know that if I want something done, the best person to do that is obviously _me_.” 

That was a mouthful, and although Chan was listening, he’s mostly just focused on trying not to grin stupidly, because the food is good and also this thing that he thought wasn’t happening was suddenly happening. 

“Also, my best friend — Han Jisung, you’ll unfortunately have to meet him and his grossly tall boyfriend at some point — made me promise that I’ll say it, so here goes;” He takes a large inhale; “I have a difficult personality, but I really like you.” 

It sounds rehearsed, like he kept saying it as a mantra before he told it to him. 

Chan stops chewing. 

“And I liked you before, too, but I didn’t realize how until — you developed wrinkles out of jealousy on your forehead.” He snorts; “Nobody ever got so jealous over me.”

Chan really wants to kiss him, properly, but he has food in his mouth.

Minho looks accomplished with just saying that out loud and looks away from him. “I still can’t believe you left me that custard,” Minho snorts all of the sudden; “That’s seriously the most romantic thing anybody ever did.” 

“You saw that…?” Chan swallows thickly, feeling his cheeks redding. 

“Changbin sent me the picture, with a puppy eyes emoji and I told him to save the custard for me. It’s in the refrigerator.” He nods toward the back; “I forced everybody to look at it. One of them criticized your piping technique. He said it was _brazenly_ amatuer.” 

“Oh god,” Chan rubs his face. 

“That day — um, I took Kim Seokjin out for a coffee, but he insisted on coming to my restaurant. It’s a chef thing? It’s like measuring penises. If I made a dick out of his scallops recipe in front of him, it’ll be the equal of setting myself on fire. I also didn’t want to go back on my own word. It’s an ego thing. All I had is my trust in you to finish what I started, my young padawan — and thankfully, you did. Changbin says your scallops were inedible.” 

“Did he?” Chan puts down the Quiche. “Honestly that entire day, I was so focused on the fact that you walked out with another man, I had the shittiest mood. Why’d you not come back the next week?” 

“So — I brought Kim Seokjin here, right? And the bastard proceeds to convince my Sous Chef to work for him for a better pay cut. He quit on Wednesday after that. Changbin was my Sous Chef until last year, so usually he still helps out here and there, but since he was now busy with classes, I didn’t have the time to go. This place is an everlasting dumpster fire.” 

Chan bites his lip; “So — what’s going to happen now…? To this place? Are you going to work double shifts to make up for it?” 

“It’s more common than you think — stealing chefs from each other.” Minho snorts; “I’m having trouble finding somebody more — suitable.” He glances at him. “Want to come work for me?” 

“You think I can do it?” 

“I’d let you fuck me right now if you’ll do it.”

“Yeah?” 

“I’m that desperate. And we have… good chemistry, you and me. I’m sure your astrology club can wait for another year or so for your return. ”

Chan snorts, and considers it for a moment, then takes a step closer. “I have a counter offer.” 

“Hold on,” Minho opens his legs, and pulls him closer by the shirt between them. He smells like pastry, but tastes like fire and smoke and mint and sex. When he pulls away, Chan stays close, feeling his breath on his wet lips. “Okay,” Minho’s voice sounds a bit unsteady and small; “Let’s hear it.” 

“That’s not fair.” Chan says, then bites his lip, and gives him another kiss, though it’s shorter, and a bit rougher than their first one; “That’s not how you negotiate. I don’t remember what I was going to say.” 

Minho snorts, then gives him a short, wet kiss. 

And another one. 

And Chan hums contentedly when Minho’s hands climb up his chest when they make out some more. They feel a bit cold under the flannel jacket he wore, sliding up until the jacket falls off his shoulders. 

“So it’s a yes?” 

Chan pulls away with a wet sound, and sucks onto his lower lip as he examines him. 

“Wait, you’re serious?” 

Chan nibbles at the inside of his cheek.

Minho snorts; “I love how you raise your eyebrows when you’re trying to figure me out.” He kisses his nose. “You look like a scolded puppy.” 

“Would you blame me…? I just don’t understand how you work — and I…” He pauses, waiting to catch Minho’s eyes; “I don’t want to fuck this up. Will you run away if I come too strong? Get bored with me if I don’t play along? Sometimes you look dead serious, but you’re not. Sometimes you look like you’re joking, but you’re not. It’s a bit frightening that I can’t — calculate my next move with you.”

Minho contemplates at that for a moment, then says; “There’s only one way you can really fuck this up, and that’s to take me to a resturant during a date. I’m picky about my food. For obvious reasons.” 

“Gotcha.” 

Minho sighs, and leans closer, running his nose and lips up his collarbone to his neck, stopping right at his jaw. He’s not really kissing, just touching, drifting the skin of his cheek against Chan’s jaw. 

It’s not even sexual — just intimate. 

It’s been so long since somebody did that, just felt him, wrapped his hands around him, and felt his body against his. 

“I don’t want you to calculate your next move with me. You don’t have to do that.” He’s not whispering, but his voice isn’t loud enough for anybody else, no matter how close they are, to hear; “I don’t want you to fit your actions to mine. I’m not going to run away. I want to fit you, just as I am.” His hands finally sneak under the ends of Chan’s tshirt, and they’re cold on the sensitive skin of his lower back; it makes a shiver run down his spine. 

“I want to fit _into_ you.” He rephrases it, and now it sounds a bit different. A little hungrier. 

He moves away so he can look at Chan’s expression. 

Chan kisses him then — slowly, keeping his hand at the back of Minho’s head so he can lean down fully into him.

It’s unhurried, but intense. Chan moves his mouth like he wants to swallow him, and Minho’s fingers clutch onto his tshirt, pulling the fabric down with their weight. 

When Chan draws back, Minho hums and follows him for more, but Chan doesn’t want to proceed before he says it; “I like you, too.” 

He squeezes his thighs at Chan’s hips.

“Okay,” he answers it while looking directly at Chan’s lips, as his hand reaches out to Chan’s crotch. “But if you want this to work,” he instructs, lowering his voice again; “You better learn to give me what I want.” 

Chan fucks him right there, on the stainless steel table in the kitchen of Minho’s restaurant. It rattles against the wall, but Chan can’t really hear it over Minho’s moans in his ear.

He cums only when he’s balls deep inside of him, on the tips of his toes, and he feels so tight he thinks he’s about to lose his mind. 

When he opens his eyes, Minho’s palming at his own cock idly, already spent all over the apron they hastily move out of the way. He’s biting onto his lip, but looks content, cheeks red and chest rising and falling quickly. He jolts up and wraps his hands around his neck, when Chan grins at him. 

They stay like that for a while, just kissing, with Chan still inside him.

It’s so sweet and easy and perfect, that he doesn’t want to stop. 

They don’t even notice the backdoor opens until it creaks when it closes. 

Changbin screams. 

Chan turns to him, his first instinct is to cover Minho instead of himself for some reason, like nobody else is allowed to see this beside him.

Changbin screams again, but doesn’t turn away or walks back out of the door, he just stands there absolutely mortified, so Chan starts laughing. He almost stumbles when he tries to put his pants and underwear back up. 

They didn’t really manage to get their clothes off before he entered him, so Minho’s has his pants hanging off his leg, and his sweater is only off one shoulder. He doesn’t seem very bothered by his own nakedness, though, and waits until Chan finishes zipping himself back so he can help him back into his pants.

Changbin screams again. 

Minho puts his pinky into his ear; “You sound like a fire alarm, cut it out.” 

Changbin points, and seems to want to say something for a moment. Chan shrugs his jacket back on his shoulders once he’s done helping Minho. He feels his blush extending up to his neck, but instead of apologizing, he can’t stop laughing.

Minho grips onto Chan’s arm when he jumps off the stove; he feels a bit unsteady. His butt left a condensation mark on the table top, and also a small wet spot of cum, which he prompts wipes with his apron, before attempting to untie it. 

Chan has no idea why he finds it so hot, so he doesn’t hear Changbin talking until Minho glances at him. “...to mention; this is your workplace and your employees should be arriving any minute now. Where they need to make food for costumers - This is fucking disgusting, hyung! This isn’t what I wanted to happen when I sent you the picture of his custard! Fuck! Romance truly is dead! The hygiene department will close this place down!”

Minho’s hair is messy on the side Chan kept griping at with his free hand, while he was pumping Minho’s cock with the other. 

Chan bites his lip, trying to contain himself, before he gets another hard-on just thinking about it. 

Minho doesn’t seem to care. “I’ll pay you double for the shift, if you shut up.” 

That silences him for a moment, but he sighs and turns to Chan and shakes his head in disappointment. 

“Sorry, dude.” Chan finally says. “What are you even doing here?” He helps Minho with the twisted apron over his head too. 

“He’s my temporary Sous Chef. Until I find a new one. The position is still vacant.” Minho raises his eyebrows suggestively. 

Chan kisses his neck. “I like my newly appointed position better.” 

“What position would that be?” 

“Boyfriend…?” Chan makes it sound a bit like a question, because it is. They technically haven’t even been on a date, and perhaps it’s a bit rushing things. If Minho says no, it’s fine too. 

Minho snorts, looking away from him, but he’s smiling — a small, baby smile; “Fine,” He huffs, as if he’s agreeing begrudgingly. 

“If I see one more dick beside my own, I’ll start crying.” Changbin announces, and walks out of the door, already holding onto his cigarette pack. 

“Music to my ears!” Minho calls after him. “Don’t you just love it when you break their spirit, and ruin their life?”

“You are evil.” Chan tells him, and kisses his neck again.

Minho smirks and gives a proper kiss, on the lips; “You haven’t seen nothing yet.”

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> the prompt was: "we both decided to take a cooking class and we’re the only two assholes not taking it seriously and everyone else is giving us dirty looks but we keep grinning over at each other"
> 
> I diverged a bit from the original, but I still hope you guys like it!


End file.
